It clings to the paper in my hand, scuttling toward my fingers. I fling it out the window with a shriek. Gross. Ugh, I hate spiders.
The car jerks as it runs over something in the street, jostling me. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel. I swallow, trying to push my heart down from where it’s lodged in my throat. What was that? I squint in the rearview mirror. It looks like a… rubber tire? What idiot would leave that in the road?
My heartbeat is erratic as I pull up to the school parking lot and roll to a stop next to the security booth. It acts like a beacon of light in the dark of the gathering storm. From inside the crisp, stone security booth, the night watchman fixes his eyes on me.
“Evening, Miss Cavendish-Holt,” he drawls as he hits the button to raise the security arm. “Hurry inside, now. It’s going to rain.”
“Thank you,” I say sweetly, turning on the charm.
I steer the car through the gate just as the clouds open up and start dumping. It’s as if the clouds themselves have gathered over the academy to drench the grounds while leaving everything beyond the gate untouched by the winter gale.
“Geez, it’s dark,” I whisper, clutching the steering wheel. It IS dark. Quiet. Eerie.
I want to get inside pronto.
I step on the gas, making the car pitch toward the large stone steps leading up to the front entry. Yanking the steering wheel to the right, I pull into Cal’s assigned parking space, thankful that it’s close to the entrance to the dorm. I fumbled around in the darkened interior of the car for Cal’s umbrella, but it’s not where I told him to put it. “Ugh. Cal.” I’m going to have to run for it.
Bracing myself, I fling the car door open and run around the hood, my high heels slipping and sliding over the slick, smooth stones. The rain pelts my bare head and shoulders, flattening my hair and catching in my falsies. Blinking rapidly, I try to clear my vision. A screech rends my lips as my feet threaten to slide out from under me. I have to get inside before Headmistress Morgan sees me. She’ll take one look at me and know I’ve been drinking. Somehow. She’s got killer instincts. Plus, that woman never liked me.
A thrill runs up my spine. There are few people who scare me, but Headmistress Morgan’s beady eyes are unnerving, at best.
My crushed velvet frock is soaked and clinging to my skin as I slip and slide in an attempt to scurry up the steps and under the protection of the deep, columned entry and through the heavy, carved wooden doors into the dormitory. The foyer is lit by the warm glow of the ornate, brass chandelier.
My heels sink into the rug, and I start to relax. The coast is clear.
“You’re back from the senator’s fundraising event, I see. And dripping on our priceless Persian rug.”
My blood runs cold as a drop of rainwater rolls down the back of my leg to the floor. My spine straightens of its own accord, and my shoulders push back. Swiveling on the balls of my feet, I meet Headmistress Morgan’s observant eyes, putting on my politician’s smile.
The woman is standing in the mouth of the hallway that leads to the academy building, her form illuminated so that it almost glows in the light of the sconces that line the space at her back.
“Good evening, Headmistress.” My voice sounds smooth and carefree, but my legs wobble. No, my entire body. Whether it’s from the champagne or the sheets of freezing rain, I don’t know.
The older woman doesn’t miss the movement. Her eyes scan my face as she frowns slightly. “Do you require assistance, Miss Cavendish-Holt?”
I almost recoil at the bite in her voice. Her words are sympathetic, but her tone is not even close.
The great wooden doors swing open and Cal clomps inside, sopping wet. “Good evening, Headmistress.” His eyes meet mine.
“Good evening, Mr. Cavendish-Holt. I trust the event went well?”
“It did. Thanks.” Crossing the room, my brother slings an arm over my shoulder. “We’ll get out of your way.”
We turn to go, but I stop when a firm, cool hand settles on my arm. The hairs on my skin stand on end.
“Miss Cavendish-Holt.”
I steel myself and turn to face the headmistress. No doubt she smells the champagne on my breath. I’m dead.